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GOD'S LOVELETTERS 

by 
EDWARD S. PETERSON 



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1901: 

The Little Print Shop 

of Fargo, N. D. 






COPYRIGHTED I 90 I 
BY EDWARD S. PETERSON 



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TO 

E. M. C. 



THE NORTH DAKOTA GIRL 



THE NORTH DAKOTA GIRL. 



She*s a sugar bowl of subtle sweets; 

A storehouse of common sense; 
A smiling depot, where firmness meets 

With rainbow sentiments. 



She's a radiant, witching, wondrous gem; 

A beautiful blushing rose; 
She's an angel on this earth, pro tem. 

Till her heav'nly trumpet blows. 



THE PRAIRIE POET 



THE PRAIRIE POET, 



He would sing 

A song of the prairie. 
Of odorous roses 

Whose gold heart's bewitching 
Are mined by the bees. 
Of meadow lark's flying 
To heavenly azure 

And lilting with beauty 
And glad ectasys. 
Of musical breezes 

A-wafting sweet perfume 
And sleeping at tv/ilight 
In buttercup dells. 
The grace and the beauty: 
The sky-shine and glory: 

The sweet prayerful whisp' rings 
Of modest blue-bells. 
Of these he would sing 
Where a city soul dwells. 



He would sing 

Of cloud-ships so brilliant 
That float in the ether 
And cast gentle shadows 
Upon the fair earth. 
Of nests 'mid the wild-blooms 
A-cradling sweet songsters 
That burst to the world 
In a miracle birth. 
Of butterflies dreaming 
In white morning-glorys 
Of laving in honey 
In cells of delight. 
Of sunsets of wonder: 
Of colors entrancing 
That fade and bewilder 
In rare riots bright. 
Of these he would sing 
In the city waif's night. 



DANDELIONS 



DANDELIONS. 



Myriad, tiny, golden suns. 
Lighting the vast dark fields of green; 
Like shining, blazing gems are seen 
These yellow, curly, bolden ones. 



Insect miner's dreaming of gold, 
Enthrall'ed, sound each dazzling bloom, 
Until they meet a fever doom, 
All, for the sake of wealth untold. 



Their life is but a fleeting show. 
Transient, in Splendor's witching day. 
Then are gold curls, moon-kissed to gray. 
And June, seems gemmed with tasseled snow. 



FOR-GET-ME-NOTS 



FO R-GET-ME-NOTS . 



The wind blows sweet from the meadows bright with bloom 

And I'm happy in the glory of the day. 

Until I wander by a lone poet's tomb. 

Then I'm soon depressed by soul dispair and gloom. 

For a bruis'ed lily lies upon the clay. 



So tenderly I raise the blossom sorely tried 

And lo! For-get-me-nots, bloom on the other side. 



WILD^WOOD-WEAVINGS 



WILD-WOOD-WEAVINGS. 



Sweet scent of lilacs, wafted by the soft. 
Caressing breeze of rare mid- May, steals o'er 
A vagrant dreamer as he idly strays 
Along the tree plumed streets of Rosalet. 
Wild violets peep above a leaf on leaf 
Murk stretch of green, immuring walks of man. 
The plum-trees, clouded with bright bloom, afar, 
Cause him to gaze into the shifting sky. 
Where lily-cups were carried by the breeze. 
Lashed out of shape by reckless azure gales. 
Then left to drift and waver towards the earth. 



An immolater, moon-toned, white winged moth. 

Flew from a dandelion into clasp 

Of unseen, cruel arms of that, that was 

Immeshed in then, impromptu curly hair. 

And lo ! — flash intuition thrilled his soul 

As from a thorn he raised the bruis'ed moth. 

Ghostly and wan, — and found the dazzling bloom 

Now white with shriveled mates of fruitless Fate. 



Deep in the woods he wandered where the trees 
Rose in their rich and bursting blooms and leaves. 
Forming, quick-changing canopies o'erhead. 
Where honeysuckles droop for sweet sensed bees. 
And apple-blossom brides unveil their hearts 
Of dainty gold, for butterflies of light, — 
That lave in sunbeams for bewitcheries. 



He lays him down beneath an apple-tree. 

He hears the birds melodious litanies. 

And then he sleeps, and smiles, and sweetly dreams. 



He wakes to hear a roaring, rushing wind. 

And see tree arabesques take sudden life: 

Then hears the gray cloud-ships of war shoot forth 

Their changing silver shot to struggle through 

The interlacing, net-work of the boughs. 

And cause weed leaves to curl as films of death. 

Then silence brief: then bugles of the wind 

Are blown again, and dazzling volley falls. 

The while from top most bough to top most bough 

A songless bird to swiftly greets gray skies. 

And a lark mother calms her brood by song. 



The river postules by the falling rain 

That seem like hills of Hght, on a dark, small 

And sluggish stream, that needs great heavens aid. 



A sudden light bursts from a cloud-rift and : 

Deepens the shadows 'neath the low-hung boughs. I 



Wood violets tip-toe towards the sky's bright blue. 
Seeming to hear the glad sweet songs of fair 
Red-breasted robins on a stately oak: 
And for the birds and blooms, and for the human soul, 
In the dark heavens, God wrote his rainbow-love. 



In silent search for violets dark blue. 

He ventured down the river bank, and lo ! , 

When least expected, shone, a truant bloom. 

Alone, — and yet, not far away, a shell 5 

Of Hke murk hue, lay buried half in clay i 

And seemed to glow upon this flower fair, i 

And listening, his soul of music heard ' 

The witching wonder- words of Love's sweet song j 

Of hidden beauties of the Is-To-Be. i 

And voiced these lines while under music's sway \ 

From songless soul of subtle sympathy. | 



Baptisms of" love have ceased from above 

And all the leaves droop towards the ground. 

But raindrops on trees are swayed by the breeze 

And tree-showers suddenly sound. 

Sunbeams low, in their glow 

Create a wee bow 

On rain, leaf impearled, blossom-crowned. 

From the trees abloom, the bold bright bees boom 
O'er beds of the violets white. 

That gaze at sky blue, till they turn that hue 

Till sun-kissed and changed to bright 
Rich yellow, and mellow: — 
Then bird ritornello 
Is a new and a sweet delight. 



On the river bank that is green and dank. 

And gemmed with dandehon gold: 

Brown cows and calves stray in their vagrant way 

And feast of the wealth untold. 

And the gleam of the stream, 

And a butterfly dream. 

Are as bright as the blooming wold. 



O, up and away, in the dawn of day 

And be Bohemias' child: 

Hear the waters sing: see the glad birds wing 

Their way thro woods undefiled. 

And soon know, God 's below 

Tho the love ways you go 

Are witching and weird and wild. 



SWEET PEAS 



SWEET PEAS. 



When the great white moon with wondrous splendor 
Like a fairy silvers a lone far lake; 
And the Dipper tips the dews to render 
To the dreaming earth for the flowers sake; 
And the Milky Way winds down to glory 
Of blossoming stars in the subtle air, — 
Then I long for you and the old, old story. 
With the sweet, sweet peas, over there, over there. 
With the sweet, sweet peas, over there. 



When clouds are murk in the sky above me 
And the rainbows shine in the blossomed past, 
'Tis then that I long for you who love me. 
For the light of love that will ever last. 
For the blissful dream and all the glory 
Of the sky above, and the earth so fair. 
And telling again the old, old story. 
With the sweet, sweet peas, over there, over there. 
With the sweet, sweet peas, over there. 



AS LILIES 



AS LILIES. 



Who gazes at myriad soul-husk tombs 

That glow in mockery of the Is-To-Be, 

With fainting heart and dread of mystery, — 

They are as felons, cow' ring in the glooms, 

Fearing God's Court to lift their drooping plumes 

And sight the bait-playthings of victory 

Of Hades host. But they who gaze and see 

With hopeful hearts the graves bright beauty blooms, 

(Emblems of life above this body-ground) 

With Hope and Faith to dull the sting of Death, — 

They are as lilies, blooming in the light. 

That, when unrolled by studious souls profound 

To know their worth, is learned of folds' pure breath 

By dew ablutions from the heav'nly height. 



THE TRUANT ROSE 



THE TRUANT ROSE. 



O wand' ring autumn winds, j 

myriad-voiced with wantoness. 
Canst tell me where my rose has gone, — •! 

into what wilderness ; 

Where never man with passion traced ; 

the wild beasts of the woods, — J 

Into what flaming depths of leaves: i 

into what solitudes? ' 



Canst tell me whispering winds that sway 

wild sun-blooms by the brook. 
Where my rose is, — my rose of love, — 

near what cool tree-tressed nook; 
Near what dim cricket pathways, murk, 

leaf-bruised and perfume faint. 
Will its sweet soul rise from its folds 

as from a dying saint? 



O great white stars shedding thy light 

on regions dim to man. 
Hast gleam of thine e'er kissed a rose 

glowing in tomb-like span 
Of ground-grave leaves that sapless lie 

in curlings of repose? — 
O guiding stars, be azure lakes, 

reflect, my truant rose ! 



O rose, sweet rose, wilt thou come back 

some witching day of spring 
In all the glorious glow of life 

that made God's songsters sing 
As if all heaven were in thee, 

and thou, the reigning Queen 
And Heart of Love, and Red of Life, 

and Majesty, serene? 



Ah, what is this, a fragrance sweet 

that thralls my very sense? 
Is it, O cooling carrier winds, 

ashes of recompense. 
For waiting, watching, searching for 

an ideal rich red rose? 
It is! It is! My glad heart sings 

the Roses' song it knows. 
And I cross the Bridge of the Future 

to where my rose-soul glows. 



DAISIES 



DAISIES. 



A-vvheeling down the highway where the dainty daisies shine 
With a sun-bloom lover bending o'er each with golden mine, — 
I see a brilliant insect that is dizzy with perflime 
A-flutt'ring near the gate- way of the sweet-heart of each bloom — 
And gazing at each blossom with a Poet's tender eye, 
I cannot help but wonder if I'll see them by and by. 
Transformed into the glory of the flowers of the sod 
That form the witching beauty of the gardens of our God. 



ASTERS 



ASTERS. 



Side streets of the city are tasseled with flowers 

Of myriad stars, wee and gold, — 

That glow and sway in the closing hours 

Of summer rich in meteor showers 

And the gleam of the wheat on the wold. 



There are streamers of silver that dance in the sky 
Of the North near the Dipper great. 
Near a sweet, sweet pea, there's a butterfly 
As white as snow flakes that on mountains lie 
Or thy soul with a lily as mate. 



There are flowers with circles of colors as rare 
As those of His bow in the sky, — 
The Charity circle, — God placed it there. 
Round it the circle of Hope and the fair 
White-City dream or Faith's By and By. 



MORNING-GLORY 



MORNING-GLORY. 



The silver morning-glory. 
Filled to the brim with dew, 
Dreampt of the witching story 
A robin sang to you 
When tall sun-flowers, golden. 
Turned toward a glad sunrise 
For faithful pathways, olden. 
Leading, to Paradise. 



And O, the joy of waking 
Beneath your laughing eyes 
When the bright day is breaking 
In God's unclouded skies. 
My day is brief for glory. 
But yours, O happy one, 
A sweet continued story 
From golden sun, to sun. 



WHERE GOLDEN-RODS 
ARE GLOWING 



WHERE GOLDEN-RODS ARE GLOWING. 



Where golden-rods are glowing 

And a-tasseling the streets. 

And shining in the by-ways of the town,- 

We also find a-blowing 

Many white-sailed golden fleets 

Of daisies, and some dandelion down. 



Where golden-rods are glowing, — 

Each a dazzling magic wand 

A-swaying all who worship Nature's gifts, — 

We also find a-blowing 

Kingly sun-blooms that are fond 

Of watching where their heav'nly namesake drifts. 



Where golden-rods are glowing 

In a dewey, starry night. 

As sunbeams that have come to earth to stay, — 

We also find a-blowing 

Starry asters, pink and white, — 

Then dream of God's sweet lessons till the day. 



LOVE AMONG THE FLOWERS 



LOVE AMONG THE FLOWERS. 



Sweet William courted my lovely Rose, 
For he, wore a Batchelor's Button; 
And a beautiful girl most always knows 
When, **Girl Wanted", is on that button. 
And she knows what's best for a loving man. 
So they wandered near fragrant bowers. 
For Cupid best holds you under his ban. 
With love among the flowers. 



He gives her the best of Candytuft, — 
The Balsom for inner delight 
Is wonderful, sweet Uttle Candytuft, 
When he studies her Palm at night. 
Soon Myrtle kisses her glowing face 
While Golden-rods from a Mint showers. 
And a Hawthorne around Sweet William plays. 
For there's love betwixt the flowers. 



Then Roses' cousin, fair Lily, white 
And pure as an archangels robe. 
Brought radiance to the coming night 
With her beauty like angels robe. 
And she slowly whispered, **For-get-me-not, 
If you want golden hours". 
And soon there reigned on that beautiful spot 
Sweet Peas among the flowers . 



**0 go and ask Poppy", then she said. 
He said, **Dear parent-true Rosy." 
Then he turned and straight to her home he sped 
To ask for his sweetheart Rosy. 
The Blue-Bells seemed ringing all the bright way 
For his coming blissful hours. 
While Dahlias carroled and gossiped of May 
And love betwixt two flowers. 



O, the gold-hearted milk-white Daisy 
Nodded each a loving ** Good-night", 
And dewey kisses were sent by the stars 
To thrill them to dreams of delight. 
But soon did the Larkspur up sleepy heads, 
For the Morning- Glory hours; 
And Honeysuckles soon after were spread. 
For these loving, these rich living flowers. 



This morn the Adonis of this tale 

Aster to be his Century wife. 

She said, ** Begonia, why there is Kale 

Who'd die, than see me as your wife." 

**0, Carnations", he wildly shouted out. 

For many a dark cloud lowers. 

And many a Violet round about 

Shed tears among the flowers. 



Returning soon after he voiced a bid 
For beauteous blushing Rosy, 
He said with a Smil"ax Poppy I did, 
O ever my ow^n sweet Rosy. 
With complexion never made by hand 
You will brighten all my hours". 
And then, O her dear slender waist was spanned 
For Hugelias by two flowers. 



HE WHO IS MOST REMOTE 



HE WHO IS MOST REMOTE. 



«*My brethern, I counsel you not to love 
your neighbor, I counsel you to love those who 
are the most remote." From ''Thus Spake Zarathus- 

tra.^'' by Friedrich Neitzsches. 



When sunblooms turn from kindly neighb'ring kin 

To faithfully follow the far 'way sun: 

When roses lean o'er wayside rails for one 

Weary and wan amid the city's din. 

And morning-glorys climb to enter in 

A window near a soul whose life was spun 

Of sorrows silver threads, — while rivers run 

Laughingly by, the deep sea's heart to win: 

Aye, when fair flowers glow for souls unseen. 

Leaving immuring fellowships alone 

To tip-toe skywards when they hear pain-notes; 

Then why not thou, O soul, on pathways green 

Or white with snow, love, follow and make known 

To pagan hearts. He who is most remote. 



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